Puppy-Dog Eyes
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: In a brand-new sexual relationship with Dean, Sam's doing his absolute best to make it work, despite the obvious awkwardness of them being...well...brothers. But he can't seem to find the satisfaction he's craving...until Dean has a suggestion. Request. WARNING: Contains petplay, bloodplay, owner!Dean, puppy!Sam, D/s, and light bondage. If you don't like any of that, don't read.


**This was a request from MyKyanna ( u/4486894/)**

**She asked for Wincest, utilizing heavy petplay, with one brother wearing a collar, ears, a leash, et cetera. As well as lower body piercings and a bit of bloodplay, with a little bit of a story to tie the whole thing together and real affection between the two characters. Hopefully, I've done all right, though I suppose that's really up to the requester, in the end. At any rate...I had fun writing this. **

**And, if you don't like this sort of thing, you've been warned. **

**I do indeed take requests and prompts - from everyone, and, as of yet, there are no rules or restrictions.**

**PM me if you're interested.**

* * *

They'd been having sex for a week now. Sam was still struggling to work through the moral and emotional ramifications of that, but it felt good, it felt right, and it was extraordinarily hard to think about whether or not they should actually be doing this when Dean was groaning under him. Or when he grabbed his hand while driving and placed on his throbbing, denim-covered cock. Or when he yanked Sam against him - _in public_ - and kissed him hard, to make it perfectly clear that he liked this and really didn't care what anyone else thought about it.

Stuff like that tended to happen fairly often, like Dean could barely keep his hands off him once he knew he didn't have to. Which meant that Sam really wasn't doing a whole lot of thinking. That might be for the best, though.

They were sleeping together, fucking with a passionate intensity only ever seen in couples who loved each other more than anything else. And they were related. Biological brothers. Born four years apart, raised together. That fact tended to rise up and hit him in the face when he was least expecting. It made him shy away from Dean's touch when he reached out to brush a hand along his hip or ass, moving before he could help himself, a sort of nameless horror flickering up in him. Occasionally, he had to turn his face away when Dean pressed himself against him, looking for an embrace and a rough kiss. He knew his brother had noticed his hesitation, and he knew it bothered him. What they had was still in its early stages, and it was still pretty fragile. They were just feeling each other out. Dean seemed put out by the fact that Sam wasn't as into displays of affection as he should be, but he didn't say anything about it until one week after they'd first acknowledged their urges and coupled up. That was when things finally came to a head, in a cheap motel room with a single king-sized bed. Dean was buzzed from one too many beers, Sam was desperately aroused, it'd been a long, hard day. They needed each other in a way that was new and kind of exciting for both of them.

"C'mere." Boots planted firmly on the thin, filthy carpet, Dean grabbed the front of Sam's shirt with both hands, nearly tearing several of the buttons out of the flannel as he dragged him over the two-foot gap that had been between them. Sam gasped into Dean's close-cropped hair, pressed hard against him with nothing but two layers of denim between their erections, and felt blood pulse painfully to his crotch as Dean put his arms around him and cupped his ass with both hands. "Sammy..." He reached up with one hand, grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, and pulled his head down, so he could kiss him. His movements were rough, almost painful, and Sam felt an eager whimper building in the back of his throat. He didn't let it out, only because he was afraid it would make Dean stop. The fact that they were brothers was the furthest thing from this mind.

"All right." Dean broke the kiss and pulled back, breathing hard and grinning widely. "Y'know, Sam..." He leaned in a little, purring into Sam's ear, the hand that was still on his ass stroking appreciatively. "I bet you didn't think I noticed how you've been looking at me all day, stripping my clothes right off with your eyes, imagining me all spread out on the bed in front of you." He nuzzled into his hair for just a second, before stepping back and working at the button on his jeans with way more dexterity than Sam would have expected, considering how much alcohol he'd had that night. "Wanna fuck me, Sammy? Wanna climb on top of your big brother and rail him as hard as you can?"

"I..." Suddenly, he was completely uncertain, not really sure what he wanted anymore or willing to go through with this. But he wasn't sure if it was the reminder that they were family that had triggered it or...maybe...the fact that he was being asked what he wanted.

Dean, pants unzipped and halfway down his legs, noticed his hesitation. Suppressing a sigh, he stepped out of his jeans, and walked back over to where Sam was standing, not moving, his arousal fluttering weakly. He closed his eyes when he felt a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder, because he knew exactly what he'd see if he kept them open. Dean's green eyes studying him, full of concern and disappointment and the unspoken question of whether or not he'd done something wrong.

"Okay. What's wrong?" he asked, voice hitting a more normal cadence now, one Sam was more used to in their everyday life. Opening his eyes and looking away, he shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied, trying to sound excited and impatient. Ready for more.

"Sam...really. What's eating you?" Dean reached down to adjust his boxers, which Sam could see were tenting pretty obviously. He felt a stab of helpless guilt. He wasn't exactly impotent right now himself, but he definitely didn't feel anywhere near as..._desperate _as Dean had to.

"I told you." He leaned forward, brushing his lips along the sandpaper stubble of Dean's jawline until he found his mouth. He reached up to grip either side of his head, fingers tugging at the short hairs near the nape of his neck as he kissed him as best he could. Lips moving to guide his mouth open so their teeth clicked together and their tongues met, hips rocking teasingly against his in a way that made him shudder and growl into the kiss, thumbs rubbing against the slight hollows just behind his temples. Sam wasn't sure what it was that was making him so hesitant, but he was determined to get past it. He knew he loved Dean, knew he wanted pleasure from him, knew he wanted to make him happy. He just didn't know what was getting in the way of all that. "Nothing."

He broke the kiss and shoved his older brother in the direction of the bed, trying to tell himself he was looking forward to this as Dean stripped and sat down, leaning back and spreading his legs to completely expose himself. Pulling off his shirt (because he'd been told multiple times how much Dean loved the sharp, clean shapes of his bare chest), he followed, dropping to his knees and propping his elbows on the edge of the mattress. He'd learned very early on that sex with another man was wildly different from sex with a woman, which was the only type of sex he'd had up until now. So far, with the only exception the first time they'd done it, Dean had always insisted on him being on top, because he was bigger ("That's ridiculous. I mean, look - we're practically the same size - " "I'm talking about _height, _Sam, not _length._ Jesus. Get your mind outta the gutter."), his cock buried in his hole and his large hands on his shoulders, pushing down into the bed. Which meant it fell to him to prepare, which he had to - he couldn't just dive right in. He had to work him open with his tongue and his fingers, get him wet. He liked to think he was getting pretty good at it.

Now, though, Sam hesitated, tongue sitting heavily in his mouth. Something just...didn't feel quiet _right. _He couldn't put a finger on what it was.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean urged, voice encouraging and more than a little strained with sexual need. "Lick me open. I want your cock in me as soon as possible."

Sam dropped his head into his hands for just a second, before rocking back so he was kneeling and running his fingers up through his hair. He exhaled explosively. He was disappointed with himself, frustrated, confused - and he couldn't even imagine how Dean must feel when he quietly admitted, "I can't."

With a small groan of effort, Dean sat up straight, letting his calves dangle off the bed and resting his forearms on his bare thighs. He was still fully erect, the tip of his cock flushed and with precome beading on it, but now, he looked more tired than horny.

"So," he began. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture before clasping them back together. "It's only been a week and you're already tired of me?" His tone was light, and a corner of his mouth quirked up in a slight smile as he said it, but Sam could pick out the fear and hurt behind his words easily enough.

"No. Of course not." He bowed his head, wishing he wasn't quite so useless as a lover. Or that he knew exactly what he or Dean was doing wrong so they could fix it.

"Then what's going on?" Again with the hand-spreading. "I mean, you've been like this all week, practically. You don't like touching me, you don't wanna talk dirty even when no one can hear us, you come and you're obviously not satisfied. Which, y'know...means I'm not, either." Dean hesitated, then squeezed his eyes shut and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "When we...well, when I first kissed you like I did, and then you held onto me and kissed back, I thought things'd be...different...from this." He dropped his hand and shook his head. "Especially 'cause of that very first time. That was amazing."

Sam chewed on the inside of his lip. The first time, they'd been having an argument. Ironically enough, he wasn't even sure what it had been about, now. Maybe Dean's less-than-stellar sexual habits. At any rate, it had kept escalating, way past the point when they normally would have dropped it and just moved on. All the way to the point where Dean whipped the car over to the side of the starlit, deserted road they'd been on, and they'd both scrambled out to scream at each other without worrying about hitting a tree.

Except they hadn't screamed. They'd kissed, and Sam wasn't sure how it'd happened, no matter how many times he ran over it in his head, but he was more or less glad it had. There'd been a little bit of talking, in between the hot, desperate kisses, just enough to establish what they were each thinking and that they were both completely fine with what was about to happen. Then there had been grabbing, Dean's hands flying all over his body, exploring every single aspect through his clothes, fingertips digging in so deliciously hard that he'd found bruises in clusters of for and five the next morning.

And then Dean had shoved him face-down on the hood of his beloved Impala, one hand tangled in his hair to keep his head turned to the side, so he could see at least part of his face when he came in the near-total darkness. With his other hand, he yanked Sam's pants down, and pulled himself out. They hadn't had lube, but saliva and Sam's ground-in ability to take a whole lot of pain without breaking had been enough. It had been incredibly rough, leaving more bruises on the ridges of his hips and ribs where he was savagely rammed against the metal of the car (Dean later admitted he'd completely lost control, and apologized profusely, eyes huge and full of self-loathing at the realization that he'd hurt his baby brother), and he couldn't ever remember experiencing more pleasure.

Things were different now, in what he had (about two days ago) casually termed their "everyday relationship," Sam realized. Maybe the sight of all those bruises had put him off. At any rate, the touches and kisses weren't exactly _gentle, _but they weren't what he wanted. And Dean always had him in control of the frequent sex.

Speaking of Dean, he coughed suddenly, breaking Sam out of his thoughts. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact when Sam looked at him, and muttered, "Are you...uh...sure you're...into guys?"

"What?" To his horror, Sam felt his face and neck heat up. What was he, fourteen? "Well - of course! Obviously. I mean, you're the first guy I ever actually, really, uh..."

"Fucked?" Dean suggested flippantly. Sam gritted his teeth.

_"Yes_ - but I've been attracted to other men before. I've masturbated over pictures of male models - "

"O-kay, that's way more than I ever wanted to know." Dean grimaced a little, upper lip twitching in disgust. Apparently, he was fine with begging Sam to penetrate him, but knowing what he jerked off to was a little too much.

"Sorry," Sam said quietly, ducking his head. Despite himself, he was embarrassed. Maybe because his performance tonight had been so dismal.

Dean was quiet for a long time, staring down at his folded hands with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he looked up, expression just a little more vulnerable than Sam had ever seen him.

"Is it because I'm your brother?" he asked, voice quiet.

"No." Sam shook his head. "No! That's not it at all. I didn't even _care _about that, when you had me bent over the hood. I liked that - I _really _liked that."

Letting out a heavy, relieved sigh, Dean leaned forward, the tip of his erection brushing against his flat stomach as he laid a reassuring hand on Sam's head. He stroked his hair, the gesture affectionate, and, without thinking about it, Sam closed his eyes and pushed back against his hand. A low sound of sudden pleasure rumbled out of his throat. Dean must not have been expecting that at all, because he froze.

"Sorry," Sam said immediately, opening his eyes and leaning back. But Dean cupped the side of his head and pulled him back into his original position, the very beginnings of a smile flickering around his mouth.

"Hey, no, it's fine, Sammy. Just fine." He started stroking again, using his palm more than his fingers this time, and pleasure that Sam couldn't explain jolted through him. He tipped his head towards Dean's hand, pushed into his palm, liking this, wanting more. Dean hadn't stroked his hair like this since he was little, but he didn't remember it ever feeling so..._good._ "So...you like this, huh? Like me petting you?"

"Uh. Petting?" Sam opened his eyes again, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Dean grinned at him.

"Yeah, Sam, this is petting." He scratched the side of his head for a couple seconds, and Sam couldn't keep his back from arching in enjoyment. "And, wow, yeah, I'd say you like it." Rubbing gently on top of his head, and smiling when he pushed up into his touch, Dean added, "You know...how 'bout you tell me just what it was you liked so much about the first time we did it."

"I don't really know," Sam admitted, ducking his head forward as Dean's hand moved to the nape of his neck. He knew he probably shouldn't be liking this so much, simple as the contact was, but he couldn't help it.

"Think," Dean encouraged, taking his hand away suddenly and standing up. When he walked over to where he'd left his boxers on the floor, Sam had the absolute strangest urge to follow him on all fours. He forced himself to his feet instead, more than a little weirded out by the thought and honestly wondering just where the hell it'd come from.

"I guess..." He did as he was told, wracking his brain. "I don't know. I liked...the pain? Maybe?" His voice went up at the end, and it came out as more of an uncertain question than he'd wanted it to.

"Yeah? Anything else?" Naked except for his boxers, Dean pulled on his T-shirt, then kicked the rest of his discarded clothes into a pile near his boots. Where no one would trip on them. Some ancient, pleasure-oriented part of Sam was infinitely disappointed by that motion; no sex tonight. He'd blown it.

"How you acted like you owned me." He was blushing again, embarrassingly enough. Goddammit, he was twenty-freaking-three, why was he blushing? "You...uh. Told me to bend over like a good little bitch so you could give me the rutting I deserved." He swallowed, suddenly finding the ceiling very interesting. It was painted the same off-white as the rest of the room, peeling in places, and it didn't really help him. "I liked that."

"I said that?" Dean looked a little blank, when Sam could screw up the courage to look at his face. "Huh. Guess I did." He rubbed a hand over his face, a sign he was tired. His exhaustion must be smothering the overwhelming desire to have sex, because otherwise, he never would have been able to carry on such a normal conversation while aroused. "It got you excited, huh?"

Sam cringed. "I'm not some sort of slut. I just...I liked it."

"I get it, don't worry." Dean eyed him, smiling gently. "Nah, you're not a slut. In fact, you're very..._loyal."_ Sam didn't understand the special intonation of that last word, but, before he could ask about it, his brother breezed past him on the way to turn off the lights, giving his ass a slap that produced a startled yelp and a downward rush of blood. "Jeans off. It's bedtime."

He blinked, offended by the commanding tone in Dean's voice, and indignantly began, "I - "

"No." _Click. _Sudden darkness. "No back-talking. Do what I say, Sam."

Something about the tone of Dean's voice made him want to obey, even though his very personality pushed him to snap back. He stepped out of his jeans without a word, using one bare foot to nudge them towards the pile of clothes Dean had already established. The glow of the neon sign outside, bearing the name of the motel and advertising its vacancies, came through the thin curtains, providing just enough light for him to see his brother pull back the covers with an expert flick of his wrist and climb into bed. He patted the bed beside him encouragingly, but the movements were a little fast. More like he was summoning a dog than another person.

"C'mere, Sammy," he said, voice gentle. Sam hesitated, eyebrows drawing together.

"I'm not a dog, Dean." It was something he felt the sudden need to point out.

"No, of course you're not. Come here." He patted the bed again, and, reluctantly, Sam padded across the room to sit next to him. But Dean gestured him into laying curled up on his side, and then started petting him again, hand running all the way from the top of his head to the small of his back, where soft, sparse hair grew haphazardly. He couldn't stop himself from shivering a little, eyes closing in pleasure at the feel of a callused hand stroking his bare skin. It was soothing, the way there was almost no pause at all between one rhythmic stroke and the next, and he felt himself automatically curling up tighter. Pushing the arch of his back into Dean's hand, making the bumps of his spine stand out. Dean bent his fingers slightly so his fingernails caught on every one, and Sam made a low, wordless "Mmm," sound before sighing in contentment.

He was almost asleep when Dean stopped petting and just lay down beside him, pressing his body against his and throwing a possessive arm over him as he pulled the covers up. Even almost unconscious, Sam nudged back a little, scooting closer. Dean's hot, even breath, ruffling his hair, was a deep comfort that he had only recently discovered and already loved. He felt him move his head a little, so his mouth was right next to his ear, and then he whispered, "Think I know what you might like, Sammy."

He would have asked him what he meant, but he was too tired.

* * *

The next morning, Dean rushed Sam through showering and getting dressed, then took his key and kicked him out of the room.

"I told you last night," Dean said, standing in the doorway with his legs spread so Sam couldn't come back in. "I think I know what you want."

"Oh, come on, how could you possible know that?" Sam complained, shivering in the early-morning chill of northern Maine. "Even _I _don't know what I want." Slightly embarrassed, he looked away. "This whole thing is...kinda...super new for me."

"Good thing you have me." Dean gave him a winning smile. "Trust me. You're gonna love what I have in mind, but I need time to pull it together."

"Should I be afraid?" Sam asked dryly, running a hand through his hair. Dean rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Sammy, for once in your life, assume the glass is half-full." He pointed off into the distance. "Now. Go...I don't know, read books at the library or whatever you do for fun when I'm not around. I'll call you when you can come back."

With that, he slammed the door. Sam glanced heavenward for a second, then turned away with a sigh and started walking. He heard the Impala's engine when he was a block away from the motel, and rolled his eyes as it zipped past him. He had a feeling he didn't even really want to know where Dean was going.

He did go to the library, but because he actually wanted to, not because it had been suggested to him. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to read for pleasure instead of research, and he was enjoying himself until his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, pressing the "answer call" button and lifting it to his ear. Dean's voice, husky and loud against the comfortable silence of the library, purred, "Time to come home, Sammy." There was a beep as he disconnected.

_Well...that was fast, _he thought, examining the digital clock on his phone. It had only been a little over two hours.

Dean opened the door as soon as he knocked, once he made it back to the motel. Only just enough so he could lean out a little and Sam couldn't really make out the inside of the room. Seeing him, he smirked slightly.

"You came right back," he noted approvingly. "Nice and obedient. Good, Sam."

"Uh..." He couldn't help feeling like this was starting to get a little weird. "Okay, so." He shrugged, and smiled nervously. "What're we doing?"

"Well, I'm gonna put a collar on you, and a leash...and you are gonna be my puppy for the rest of the day." Dean smiled widely, running his teeth along his lower lip.

Sam stood frozen, waiting to be told he was joking or to see him wink and burst out laughing because he very nearly fell for it. When neither of those things happened, he blinked, and uncertainly asked, "Um. What?"

"You heard me. Come on." Dean grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and hauled him inside before he could ask again and try to get more information. The door clicked shut behind him, its deadbolt sliding home with a heavy finality, and he felt like pressing his back against it defensively. Especially once he saw what was laid out on the bed.

Collars. About half a dozen of them, all different materials, widths, and colors, with matching leases coiled neatly nearby. Leather handcuffs and bondage straps, lined with lambskin. Plugs, large enough to make him worry, with - he swallowed - _tails _attached to them. And several knives. They looked like they'd come from the arsenal in the back of the Impala, and seemed a little out of place. He tried to understand if what he was feeling was fear or excitement.

Sam felt a hand on the back of his head, stroking soothingly. He bit his lip. Suddenly, last night's petting made a lot more sense. Next to him, Dean murmured, "What, never heard of petplay before?"

"No." Sam shook his head, a breathy, incredulous little laugh popping out of him. "Never." Glancing at Dean, he knew his expression must be a mixture of horror and awe. "You...want me to act like a dog?"

"Not quite that simple." Dean smiled indulgently, moving his stroking to the side of his head. "I want unconditional love from you, complete obedience. You'll do whatever I tell you to, so I can train you to...heh...please me to the _absolute best _of your - " He touched the fingertips of his free hand to Sam's lips, indicating his mouth. " - abilities. You'll bark, whine, yip, whimper, follow me everywhere, sleep with your head in my lap, beg - all on all fours, wearing a collar. And a leash, with me holding the other end." The smile became just the tiniest bit predatory. "'Cause you're gonna be my puppy...my Sammy." He kept petting, his movements soothing. "I'll _own _you." He leaned in, and Sam felt himself drawn into a warm, gentle kiss that made his knees weaken. When Dean pulled back, he whispered against his slightly parted lips. "Won't you like that?"

Sam forced himself to think about it, even though his first reaction was to shove Dean off of himself and tell him to take a flying leap because he wasn't a freaking _dog. _But he was completely shocked to find that he actually liked the idea of being treated like that. The idea of being owned. In a perverse way, he was looking forward to the weight of a collar around his neck, the humiliation of being told exactly how to pleasure Dean.

He figured he should at least try it, see if it worked for him. Besides, judging by the stuff on the bed, this was some sort of BDSM. Which meant Dean would probably give him a safe word.

So he nosed forward, hoping he was doing this right, and affectionately nuzzled along Dean's jawline. His brother reacted with an approving growl, grabbing one of the belt loops of his jeans and tugging him closer.

"Yes," he admitted, flicking the tip of his tongue against Dean's earlobe. "Okay. So." Sam moved his head, so his shaggy hair brushed against the side of Dean's face. "I'm your puppy."

"Damn right you are." Lowering his voice a little, Dean told him, in a warm, concerned tone, "Listen, Sam. You're the sub, the bottom - means you're more in control here than I am. I want you to enjoy this as much as possible; I don't wanna hurt you. The safeword's 'sulfur.' Got it? You use it any time you want, if I'm being too rough, or you don't like something, or you just wanna stop. I'll stop. I'm telling you now...you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, but you gotta use the safeword. Crying, begging - anything but 'sulfur,' and I'm just gonna assume it's something that gets you off."

"I know how a safeword works, Dean," Sam said, unable to keep a thin note of exasperation out of his voice.

"Good." Dean stepped back, and smiled. "Ready?"

"Uh..." He couldn't stop a sudden wave of uncertainty.

"C'mere." Dean cupped the side of his head with one hand, and Sam resisted the urge to step back. It got harder, though, when Dean used his other hand to maneuver something onto his head, something heavy that flopped around disconcertingly when he moved his head. It felt like a...well, like a headband. Not that he had firsthand knowledge of what a headband felt like. Twisting away from Dean's touch, he reached up, feeling - yes, a plastic band, so narrow and lightweight it was completely hidden by his hair, and he could barely feel it where it tightly hugged his scalp. But there was something attached to it on either side of his head, something soft and covered in silky fur.

_Ears, _he realized, grimacing. Dog ears. Big, floppy, and - he saw as he tugged one, so it was just barely in his line of sight - the exact same shade of brown as his hair. _Where the hell did he find these? Where was he keeping them?_

"Aww." Dean's voice was gentle, condescending. "You make such a _cute _puppy." He turned away from him, walking over to stand beside the bed and the wide assortment of collars on it. Smirking at Sam, he patted his thigh, calling him over. "Come here, Sammy. I wanna get a collar on you. Can't have you running off without anyone knowing who you belong to."

"Dean..." Sam hesitated, one hand still on his brand-new ears.

"Come on, Sam." Smirking widening, Dean patted his thigh again. "Be a good boy."

Very, very reluctantly, Sam let go of the ears, and joined him. He cast an unsure glance at the collars, then looked back at Dean.

"...why are there so many?" he asked quietly.

"Well, you weren't with me when I was picking 'em out," Dean explained, reached up to fondle his ears. Sam tolerated it, and tried not to lean towards the contact too much. "I didn't know which one would look best on you. So...let's try this one." He picked up a narrow, bright-red collar, made of extraordinarily glossy leather and lined with what looked like fur. Sam grimaced again.

"That's for a girl," he pointed out. Up until about ten minutes ago, he hadn't even known putting collars on people was a thing, but he could tell that much, even with his limited knowledge.

"Yeah...you could pass for a bitch." Dean grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, and even that little bit of manhandling got Sam's heart racing. "'Specially with your hair getting so long." He felt fur against his throat and neck, and the sharp edge of the leather. Then an unaccustomed tightness as Dean buckled it snugly in the back. It was light; the pressure was really the only thing he noticed. "Hm." He turned him around again, then grabbed his chin, turning his head from side to side to get a better view of the collar. When Dean frowned and let go, Sam dropped his head without fully realizing what he was doing, and whimpered quietly. The sound felt almost natural in his throat. "Hey...see? You're good at this...but I don't like that on you. I think you need something sturdier."

He let a wolf collar, black leather with gleaming chrome spikes, be fastened onto his neck, but Dean thought the spikes might get in the way. Sam was secretly relieved; he didn't like how the bare leather felt. There was another black leather collar, relatively narrow with a silver buckle, but, again, Dean complained about it not being "sturdy" enough. Same with the dark-green vinyl, studded with chrome, and the off-white nylon. Finally, though, he settled on one. A wide collar, smooth, buckskin-colored leather with a lambskin lining and a steel buckle in the back. Dean hooked a finger under it, even though he'd already buckled it on just about as tight as Sam could stand, and tugged on it. Sam fidgeted uncomfortably as he nodded in approval.

"Yeah...I think this one works real well for you," he commented, keeping on hand on Sam's new collar at all times as he walked a slow circle around him. Sam closed his eyes and tired to tip his head back, but quickly found out he couldn't do it comfortably; the collar pressed down on his Adam's apple and the ears flopped backwards. "You're collared now, Sammy-boy...you're _mine. _How does that make you feel?"

Before Sam could answer, he tugged at the jacket that he was wearing over his T-shirt, ordering, "Strip. Puppies don't wear clothes."

"Dean - " he began plaintively, shrugging out of his jacket, but Dean cut him off by grabbing the back of his collar and yanking his head backwards. So his mouth was right next to Sam's ear. The leather of the collar dug into his throat.

"Puppies don't talk, either." He ran his upper teeth along the curve of Sam's ear, and his breathing sped up. "If you wanna say something...bark." He let go of him.

Mutely, Sam kicked off his socks and boots, unbuttoned and stepped out of his jeans, and slipped off his boxers. The half-mast erection he'd been nursing since that first touch in the doorway sprang free, and he felt more than saw Dean leer at him. He struggled a little, pulling his T-shirt off over his collar and ears, but he managed it. Once he was done, Dean kicked all of his clothing into a corner, and then there was a metallic _click _as he clipped a leash to Sam's collar. Not a terribly long one, either. The two matched.

"Sit," Dean ordered, pointing down at the floor. Sam glanced down, and was about to protest, say that there was no way he was sitting naked on carpet that dirty, but then he remembered he wasn't supposed to talk. Which was just stupid, but he was giving Dean's little fantasy to benefit of the doubt. So he whined, the sound something out pleading and pathetic. Dean just patted his head affectionately, right between his ears. "Sit, Sammy."

Sam sat, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He folded his legs and rested his hands on his knees, and got cuffed on the side of the head by Dean's hand. It was light enough it didn't hurt, but it got the point across, and made him yelp in surprise.

"Bad dog," Dean scolded. _"Sit."_

There was special emphasis on the word this time. Sam, who had only really owned a dog once - and not for a very long time - tried to figure out how he was supposed to sit. He moved up into a crouch, palms and feet planted flat on the floor, bare ass and balls brushing against the carpet just enough to send prickles of disgust up his back. Almost unconsciously, he curled his fingers in, to make paws out of his hands. He looked up at Dean, who was still holding the end of his leash. He was desperately hoping to see approval, because he wasn't sure he could take being hit again without standing up, ripping the collar and ears off, and putting an end to the whole thing.

But he was rewarded with Dean's hand on his head, stroking his hair back from his face, fondling his ears and petting him gently. Sam closed his eyes, but not before he noticed the approving smile on Dean's face.

"Oh, good boy, Sammy," Dean praised him. He scratched at the base of one of his ears, and Sam cocked his head, leaning into his touch because, for some reason, it felt amazing. "Knew you'd figure it out - you're a smart puppy."

He opened his eyes when Dean took his hand away. From down here, looking up - with the collar, again, pressing on his Adam's apple, but, now, he had no choice - the bulge in his jeans was obvious, large enough that he had to be fully erect. This really made him that hard? To the point where he had a fully-developed, raging hard-on without touching himself once or having Sam's hand on him?

Dean crouched down so he was level instead, then grunted in discomfort and knelt instead. The position must have have stretched his pants too tight across his straining cock. He still had the leash in his hand, and tugged on it a little, making Sam lean forward. He forced himself to whine instead of ask what was happening. He got an answer to his unspoken question pretty quickly, when Dean reached between his forearms and his widely-spread legs, to lay two fingers against the underside of his half-hard cock. He felt a shudder of pure pleasure run through him; it was like brushing against a live wire.

"You like this?" Dean whispered, gently stroking those fingertips all the way up to the flushed head of Sam's cock. He sucked in a breath, feeling more blood rush downwards, making him harder and swelling him bigger in response to the contact. It was practically feather-light, he couldn't stand it; he twitched his hips forward, just a little, trying to fuck himself on his older brother's hand, but Dean clicked his tongue sharply. "No, Sammy, don't move. Just let your master take care of you."

Sam bit the inside of his lip, closed his eyes, and whined again. Every muscle in his body was trembling a little with heightened pleasure. The weight of the ears on his head, the feel of the collar around his neck, the pure sensation of Dean running his fingers up and down his cock to draw him up into a full, almost-painful erection - it all combined into something he hadn't felt for a week. Intense, fulfilling pleasure, which he hadn't been able to find when they'd just been having relatively-normal sex and he'd been in charge. And maybe he hadn't been the only one who found it a little lacking, judging by how much Dean seemed to be enjoying this.

"There," Dean purred, letting Sam's cock rest across the palm of his hand. He could feel that he'd been coaxed out to his full length, and he gasped with sudden need. The gasp turned into a low, desperate moan as Dean rubbed his thumb over his hot, swollen head, smearing it with the drop of precome that had just barely welled out. "You've got such a pretty cock; I'd love to take you out while you're hard like this, lead you on a leash and let everybody see what a perfect little puppy you are...and they'll all know you belong to _me. _My pretty baby brother...my _pet."_

Sam panted, eyes still squeezed shut. He wanted to be jerked off, penetrated, to feel Dean's mouth enveloping him to finish what he'd started. He wanted to come, because he knew this wouldn't be one of the thin, weak orgasms he'd had to content himself to lately. He'd be screaming, bucking his hips with all the savage lust of an animal in heat, pumping come until his balls ached and his prostate was dry as a bone. His fingernails dug into the skin of his palms as he got out, "Dean, you have no idea how good - "

"Aw, Sammy," Dean chided, interrupting him. "Puppies don't talk." He took his hand away, and Sam almost howled in disappointment. He opened his eyes, scowling at Dean and the smirk that was suddenly on his face, opening his mouth to tell him to just _do _something to him already - until he added, "You realize I can just leave you tied up and crying at the foot of the bed, right? All day. With your paws tied together so you can't even touch yourself; I can whack off just fine while you whine and whimper."

And, God, that made Sam want to snap out, "Sulfur," and take the collar off, just so he could hold onto Dean's shoulders and drive into him, hard, to get relief. Or maybe, just maybe, he could beg him into being on top - though that wasn't likely, if he took the collar off and ended the game. But, somehow, he just couldn't quite bring himself to do that. He couldn't resign himself to that.

Weird and humiliating as this was, he liked it.

So he softened his expression, biting his lip and letting out a pleading whimper, widening his eyes into what Dean had, on a couple occasions before they even started sleeping together, offhandedly dubbed his "puppy-dog" expression. He thought it would be appropriate here.

"That's better." Apparently, it had been. Dean leaned forward, and, unbelievably, planted a tender kiss on his forehead. "Good Sammy. I'd hate to leave you unsatisfied. It's my job to take care of you, after all."

Sam blinked, not sure how such blatant affection made him feel, but he had to shove it to the back of his mind when Dean raised his thumb, still slick with Sam's own fluids, to right in front of his mouth. He practically had to cross his eyes to focus on it, and the familiar, slightly-musky smell made him lean back a little. But Dean pulled on the leash, and he realized what he wanted.

He opened his mouth a little, flicked his tongue out, and lapped, tentatively, at the pad of his thumb. He tasted himself, the flavor thin and bitter, and licked again, drawing the flat of his tongue up the side of Dean's thumb. Dean slipped the loop of the leash's handle onto his wrist, still holding onto it as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He pulled himself out as Sam took his thumb into his mouth, sucking every last bit of his own precome off, laving the calluses and ridges with his tongue like it was Dean's cock he had in his mouth, instead of his thumb.

"You like the taste of yourself?" Dean asked in a husky voice, his free hand wrapped around his cock and pumping upward in quick, rough movements. His palm was cupped against Sam's face, his fingers stroking the hair that tumbled over his (real) ears as he twirled his tongue around his thumb. "Like licking your own precome off me?" His eyes were intent on the movements of his mouth, and Sam couldn't believe he wasn't already bucking into an orgasm. He looked about seconds away from coming. "All right. That's enough."

He pulled his thumb out of Sam's mouth with a wet popping noise, then shoved his own dick back into his jeans and zipped up. Standing, he let the handle of Sam's leash fall back into his hand, then tugged it, making Sam jerk forward and fall onto his knees as the collar bit at his neck.

"Come on," he encouraged. When Sam made to rise to his feet, Dean placed a hand between his ears and shoved him back down. Hard. "No. Bad Sammy." On all fours, with his throbbing cock and balls dangling just below his stomach, he looked up at him, trying the puppy-dog eyes again. But Dean only grabbed his chin and tilted his face up further, so he could see his condescending, almost predatory smile. "Stay where you belong." He let go of him, his gaze traveling approvingly along his body. His bare, coppery shoulders, the slight inward curve of his back, his tightly-muscled ass...and that's where his eyes stopped. And widened. "Oh. What's this?"

Sam dropped his head, having a pretty good idea of what it was he'd suddenly noticed, and wishing he hadn't. He felt his cheeks heating up.

Of course he wouldn't have picked it out before now. They'd only been having sex for a week, and he hadn't touched his ass all that much. He'd only had an opportunity to get a good view of Sam's backside once, and it'd been dark when he threw him onto the Impala. Every other time, Sam had been facing him during intercourse, or on top of him while he lay face-down.

"Face down, ass up," Dean ordered, walking around to get a better look at the tail end of him. Sam did as he was told, gritting his teeth but not even thinking about using the safeword, resting his chin on the filthy carpet between his "paws." He lifted his ass as much as he could, spreading his legs a little, baring himself and crushing a sudden, naive little hope that Dean was finally going to give him the sex he'd been craving for a week. A heavy hand was laid on the upper part of his right buttock, playing with the little silver stud that pierced the smooth, soft flesh there. "Well, I'll be damned." Dean laughed, incredulous and derisive. "A _piercing._ Never woulda expected that from you. Bet there's a real story behind it..." He stroked the curve of Sam's ass a few times, before going back to the stud and giving it a slight, painful twist. "Especially 'cause it's all healed up. How long've you been walking around with this biting into that sensitive little ass of yours, Sam? A year? Two?"

Faced with a blatant question, Sam raised his head a little, meaning to answer. But a sharp tug on his leash abruptly reminded him that he wasn't surprised to talk. He stayed silent, glaring at the carpet in front of him, feeling a muscle in his jaw work. He tried to gauge his feelings, see if he could handle the blows to his pride without snapping. Judging by his aching, leaking cock, he could, but that didn't stop a dull, humiliated anger at Dean from taking up residence in his stomach.

_Jerk._

He barked, once, the sound low and quiet and reluctant. He felt a heavy blush burning its way along the line of his cheekbones as Dean laughed and patted his ass right over the piercing.

"Clever puppy," he said approvingly. "One year, Sammy? Is that what you're trying to say? So...you got this done while you were living with me, and I didn't even notice. Sneaky." He tweaked the stud again. "I gotta say, I _like _this...suits you. Though, maybe, we should replace this stud. Maybe with a tag. 'Property of Dean Winchester.'" Boots clomped heavily against the floor as Dean took his hand off Sam's ass and walked back around to stand directly in front of him. "But that can wait. Right now, I want that cute little tongue on my cock just as soon as possible. Follow me."

He gave the leash a slight tug, and Sam had no choice but to follow him as he gathered up the extra collars and leashes, then walked over to dump them in an unceremonious pile by his duffel bag and Sam's backpack. He didn't try standing up again, since Dean had made it abundantly clear he wasn't allowed to do that. He crawled, his blush getting worse as he lowered his head and stared embarrassedly at the filthy carpet. Being led by his older brother, on a leash, on all fours, like a dog, while he cleared off their bed so Sam could suck his dick...it forced a whine out of him, as his own cock pounded agonizingly with every throb of his heart. Precome leaked out of him in a sudden, miniature rush every time Dean felt he was moving too slowly and pulled on his leash. He bit his lower lip, hard, trying to keep control of himself as he trembled a little with deep, intense need.

The collars and leashes went out of the way, now that Sam had been outfitted with one of each, but Dean placed the handcuffs, bindings, plugs, and knives on the bedside table. While he was arranging everything within easy reach, Sam sat, with his hands and feet flat and his bent legs spread, like before. The position was unbelievably easy to just slip into, despite the fact that it made the muscles of his thighs and calves burn and his knees protested the strain. Dean reached down to pet him, running his fingers tenderly between his ears and then fondling them. This time, Sam saw no real shame in pushing up against his hand and making a pleased sound, begging for more attention. it just didn't seem all that bad, compared to everything else.

"All right, come on, Sammy. Up on the bed." Dean took his hand off of his head and patted the mattress encouragingly. Closing his eyes briefly, Sam scrambled up, not daring to stand and make it easier. He knelt on the threadbare comforter, legs spread wide and hands planted firmly. Dean kicked off his boots and joined him on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and the headboard with a sigh. He looked Sam over with a satisfied smirk, raising both eyebrows when he found his flushed, erect cock. "Blushing, huh? That's just adorable...and hard as a rock, too. Poor Sammy. Forced to wear a collar and be a good dog, it's turning you on so much - and your master won't even let you touch yourself." Leash still in hand, he sat up straight, and reached for the leather cuffs. "Paws up."

Sam did as he was told, raising his hands with his wrists bent and his knuckles aimed towards Dean. He moved his mouth a little as the handcuffs were fastened around his wrists, bracelets of stiff, tough leather lined with fleece and connected by a thick cord. He was basically being hobbled. Should he object to this? Draw the line here?

If he'd actually wanted to, the moment was past. The cuffs were on his wrists, and Dean purred, "Good boy," as he leaned back again, legs bent and spread, sock-clad feet resting flat on the bed. In this position, the bulge in his jeans was so obvious that it was pretty much all Sam could look at.

"Come here," Dean ordered gently, tugging on the leash and pulling him forward. He whimpered as the leather of the collar bit into his neck, and then almost fell flat on his face before he got used to crawling with his hands bound. He lowered his head, fully aware his ass was rising up as he put most of his weight on his hands, and nosed at Dean's crotch. When that earned him an approving grunt from his brother, he mouthed at his erection through the denim, using his lips and tongue to explore the shape of it. He felt a hand on top of his head, stroking his hair affectionately, scratching around his ears (which was more than welcome, considering that the headband was starting to get a little uncomfortable), pushing him down. Dean's other hand, with the handle of the leash dangling from his wrist, worked open the button of his jeans. He pushed Sam's head back as he unzipped and then tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock. The head was just as pink as Sam's was, just as slick with precome. "All right, Sammy..." With the heel of his hand pressed against Sam's forehead, he moved his fingertips through the damp tangles of his hair. "Be a good puppy and please your master."

Sam dropped his mouth to his brother's cock again, reveling, for just a second, at the feel of hot, bare skin against his tongue as he gave the swollen head the slowest, most sensual lick he could manage. Giving head was actually something he enjoyed, and thought he was pretty good at - at least, when he was giving it to a girl. Dean's was the only cock he'd ever had in his mouth, and that had only been a couple times, and never for very long. Not to mention never quite like this. With him naked, and leather cuffs around his wrists, and Dean pushing his head down onto his dick while he lounged back like he really had nothing better to do than let Sam suck him off. Just thinking about that, Dean's position and the collar and leash that connected them in a symbol of complete ownership, made him pant a little against his shaft as he lapped down onto it. He raised one hand off the bed, unconsciously meaning to give himself a little attention, but the handcuffs stopped him. He thought he might be starting to understand their purpose.

He kept licking, even as his tongue started to ache with the strain, keeping his movements relatively slow and gentle. He drew his tongue down from the head of Dean's cock, the bitter, salty taste of precome sitting heavily in his open mouth as he covered his shaft with thorough strokes. He tongued at his balls when he reached the base, mouthing at first one, then the other, hearing Dean hiss in pleasure and feeling his fingernails dig into his scalp.

"Good boy, Sammy, good boy." His voice was a throaty purr, deep and husky with arousal, and, with his face practically buried in his crotch, Sam could feel the muscles of his thighs and pelvis trembling. He'd be grinding up into his mouth soon, throatfucking him, unable to keep his hips from bucking.

_I'll have to be careful about my teeth._

Sam, now teasing the base of Dean's cock with tiny flicks of the tip of his tongue, almost laughed. _Really? _He was busy giving a blowjob, there was a collar around his neck, his own cock was so stiff it hurt and he could actually feel his opening twitching in pure sexual need...and his thoughts were perfectly calm and rational. He was reminding himself to watch his teeth once Dean's cock was actually in his mouth.

_There's gotta be something wrong with me__._

Besides the obvious, of course. "The obvious" being the fact that he was currently swirling his tongue over the ridges and veins of his brother's cock and loving every second, if the sudden little lightning-shocks of pleasure traveling up from between his legs were any indication.

With wet, luscious licks, he went back to Dean's head, tonguing his slit and lapping up several new droplets of salty, musky fluid before opening his mouth a little wider and slipping it down over about a quarter of his length. He closed his eyes as he did so, not even trying to stop an eager whine that had been building in the back of his throat for awhile. Dean pushed down harder on his head, raising his hips just a little as he groaned out his name, and the muscles of Sam's throat fluttered with a barely-suppressed gag reflex. He guessed Dean was at least a little above average when it came to both size and length, though he didn't really have a frame of reference beyond himself (and he was only a little bigger). He doubted he would be able to take all of him into his mouth even if he was more experienced with this sort of thing.

But he did his best, bobbing his head down to near the base of Dean's cock, feeling the head twitch against the back of his throat and a droplet of precome trickle down into him, then pulling up until his lips were pressed against the very tip. Sam gave it a few licks, then dove back down, rolling his tongue against the underside as he deep-throated him and flexed the muscles of his cheeks and worked his hands against the mattress, frustrated and desperate. He felt Dean buck upwards into his mouth, his hand running along his head and neck in fast, rough strokes as he groaned again and grunted in pleasure.

"That's it," Dean encouraged, sounding a little breathless. "Oh, shit, Sam - " His hand tightened, pulling on his hair as Sam went down again, then relaxed when he came up. "You're just perfect for this, aren't you? Your tongue, your mouth on my cock...yeah, my perfect little Sammy. You're such a good puppy. I - Jesus!" Sam had wrapped his lips around him and started to actually suck, gently; Dean, apparently, liked it. "I don't think I'm gonna have to train you very much at all." He stroked his ears, breathing hard. "Careful, though; you don't want me to come before I get a chance to fuck you, do you?"

Sam whimpered, pathetically eager, his hips trembling with anticipation. He made to lift his head, but Dean pushed him back down onto his cock, so hard he almost clipped the head with his teeth.

"Nope, not yet," Dean told him, pulling a little on the leash. Like he was just trying to remind him it was there. "Get me nice and slick; that's all the preparation you're gonna get."

Sam licked, pressing his tongue into all the curves and hollows of Dean's cock, coating it completely with saliva. He rolled his wrists against the handcuffs, impatient. Finally, as he was laving his head, lapping and sucking, Dean grabbed his chin and, gently, tilted his head back and up.

"Yeah, that's enough," he murmured, smiling as Sam panted with his tongue sticking out just a little. "Turn around, spread your legs - ass wide open, tail up."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the reference to a tail, which wasn't exactly a part of his anatomy (yet, at least - those plugs still worried him), and backed away from Dean, giving himself room to turn. He spread his legs wide, lowering his chest to the bed, placing his chin directly on top of the leather cord that connected his wrists. He heard Dean grab something off of the bedside table, and assumed it was the straps. He waited for his knees or ankles to be bound together, or his hands to be tied down between his legs, but Dean made no move to restrain him any more than he already had. He just knelt directly behind him, stroking his ass with the hand that, presumably, wasn't holding the leash, running his fingertips up to tweak his piercing and making him wince. He teased at his entrance with the spit-slick head of his cock, and Sam whined, nudging his hips back without even thinking about it.

"Oh, so _eager,"_ Dean purred, reaching down to run a single fingertip along the length of Sam's cock. "You've been waiting for this the whole time, huh? Do you want me to come inside you, Sammy? Want me to fuck you as hard as I can?"

_Oh, God, yes, just take me already! _Sam squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered. _Jerk._

And then Dean's fingers curved around the ridge of his hipbone, and pulled him back even as he thrust himself forward. Sam jerked, a breathless shout escaping from him as Dean drove into him, cock penetrating the tight pucker of his hole and filling him in a way he wasn't quite used to yet. He felt his older brother's T-shirt fluttering against his bare back as he leaned down, moving his hips slightly to create muted, tiny bursts of pleasure that Sam was sure did absolutely nothing for either of them. He nuzzled Sam's hair, his ears, before ducking underneath them to take the tip of his real one between his teeth and tug gently at it. Sam groaned, feeling the heel of his other hand planted firmly on his hip, almost certainly stabilizing him in preparation for real, powerful sex. He ran his teeth down onto his lobe, nipped at that, then took his mouth off his ear to whisper, "Bark."

He leaned back then, shifting into a better position, and started to move in earnest. His hips locked hard against Sam's every time he rammed himself into him, the head of his cock striking and gliding over his prostate with every thrust, making every muscle in his body go taut with the effort of staying where he was and not just collapsing. His first urge was to shout, maybe Dean's name, maybe something else, maybe just nothing at all, or to moan. To make some normal, human sound in response to the pure pleasure of a cock pumping in and out of his stretched, clenching hole. Instead, he opened his mouth, and barked. The sound was uncertain and shaky, but Dean growled out his approval. Sam barked again, stronger this time, right as he slid in and hit his prostate in an explosion of hot pleasure, his voice going a little higher than he would have liked.

"Good Sammy." Dean was breathing hard, voice so rough with sex he sounded like a chain-smoking version of himself, and Sam could tell from his tone that he was smiling. "You opened right up for me, but you're so _tight_ - it's practically like you're a virgin down here." Sam felt him move the heel of his hand off his hip, but he didn't think a whole lot about it, with the muscles of his neck automatically tightening to drive his chin down into the bed, and his fingernails digging deep into the calluses on his palms. He did his best to move with Dean, pulling away when he did, slamming his hips back to meet him, lifting his ass a little higher to give him a better angle. "I know you've hinted at it, but...tell me the truth. Is mine the only cock you've ever had in you?"

Sam barked through gritted teeth, even as he felt the flat of something cold and metallic being laid on his back. Right underneath his left shoulder blade. Dean laughed a little, the sound fading down into a grunt of pleasure, and murmured, "Yeah...my puppy. Completely mine." He turned the knife - because that's what it had to be - so the razor-sharp edge of the blade rested against Sam's exposed skin. After that, he didn't move, just let it stay there, and Sam (who had stiffened automatically under the unmistakable touch of a knife) realized that he was giving him a chance to use the safeword. To let him know he wasn't comfortable with this. But he stayed silent, figuring he could take being cut, and honestly a little curious to see where this would go. Up until now, Dean hadn't shown any interest in hurting him...but Sam, sick as he knew it was, was eager for the pain.

And, now, apparently, he had gone long enough without saying "sulfur" to give his consent, because a thin, stinging line of fire was being draw across his skin.

He heard the knife drop to the bed, then felt Dean's hand cupping the side of his ribcage and pulling his torso up, until he could press his mouth to the shallow little cut he'd made. Sam felt blood welling out of it, beading along it, until Dean's tongue lapped it up, and he cried out in a sudden rush of pleasure. He pulled at the edges with the tip of his tongue, sucking gently as he licked, drawing more blood out. His hips rolled against Sam's, the rhythm a little smoother now, but no softer. The way he was slamming into him, Sam guessed that he'd have bruises in the shape of the ridges of Dean's hips on his ass tomorrow. Skin slapped against skin as he hit his prostate on every try and sucked thin streamers of hot, metallic blood out of him, and with his mouth on that cut and his cock in his ass, Sam felt himself getting closer and closer to release. Especially when Dean let go of his other hip and reached down to wrap a hand around him, jerking him off with quick, decisive strokes, even as he kept thrusting into him and licking blood out of the wound he'd made. Sam panted, eyes wide, hips moving automatically, as he felt the waves of pleasure brought on by Dean's mouth and cock and hand getting closer and closer together. And when his brother took his mouth off the oozing cut on his back just long enough to breathe, "Good puppies come right when their master tells them to," in his ear, Sam was over the edge.

He practically howled, the sound so canine that some small, coherent part of his brain was more than a little concerned. His back arched, and his cock pulsed as pearly come spattered the bedspread and his stomach and Dean's hand. His hips bucked automatically, balls tingling and his entire body practically lit up with sensation, and Dean moved with him, in order to keep his cock inside Sam's hole and pressed against his prostate throughout his entire orgasm. With his eyes wide open and every exhalation a cry, he could feel himself spasming around Dean, and his pleasure was just barely peaking when Dean's other hand tightened on his side and he groaned as he reached climax.

Once Sam was finished, trembling with aftershocks and feeling like he was floating because of the endorphins that had just flooded his system, he focused on staying where he was and feeling Dean pump him full of come. Judging by the fact that he had stopped moving, he was almost done, too; Sam closed his eyes, dropping his chin back to the mattress with a sigh. As soon as the flow more or less ebbed, Dean let go of his softening cock and patted his side.

"Clench while I pull out." He sounded exhausted, blissed-out, but his voice was still commanding. Sam exhaled explosively, starting to get a little tired of being treated like he was perfectly obedient and needed to be told what to do, but he did what he wanted him to anyway. Dean drew out of him, leaving him with the silky, almost completely-unfamiliar feel of a load of come inside of him. He shifted a little bit, then felt Dean's fingertips on his tailbone, holding him in place. Then something was pushed up into him, stretching him out and making him whine until he settled closed around the narrower part of it. _A plug, _he realized, pushing himself up into a kneeling position. With - something met the bed before it should have, making the plug shift inside him and getting a low groan out of him as it brushed against his hypersensitive prostate - a tail attached to its flanged end. Of course.

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably as Dean unclipped the leash from his collar and then pulled on his shoulder to get him to turn around. He lifted his hands, unfastening the leather cuffs, and then tenderly checked his wrists for red marks or scratches. But the lining seem to have done its job well.

"You're okay, right?" His voice was gentle as he reached up to scratch the top of Sam's head, then swept his hand down to cup the side of his jaw. Sam closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. "I wasn't too rough with you?"

In answer, Sam let out a low, contented little sound, settling down into a prone position on his side. He stretched his legs out, doing his best to ignore the almost-enjoyable discomfort of the plug (and Dean's come) moving inside him, and more or less sprawled, body turned to avoid the puddle of come that he knew they'd have to clean up later. He tucked his hands up near his chest, wrists bent and fingers still curled inwards to make his huge hands resemble paws. With a small sigh, he laid his head in Dean's lap, resting his chin on one denim-covered thigh and more or less burying the lower half of his face in it. Dean was sitting up against the headboard, legs folded and pants closed back up now that he was flaccid again, and he stroked Sam's head with gentle surprise.

"All right. Guess that's a no, then." Still petting him, he stroked down from his head, onto his back. He pressed his fingers to the cut he'd made below his shoulder blade, splitting the fragile scab that had started to form over it open and dragging his fingertips through the blood that oozed out. He tugged at the edges, squeezing more out, making intricate little patterns on a tiny patch of skin around the cut before raising his fingers to his lips and licking Sam's blood off with soft, wet sounds. The irritated sting of it, the feel of blood creeping out, hot and wet and sticky, past the edge of the little wound, thudded down into Sam's core, making hairs rise along his spine and his cock pulse mutedly, starting to rise again. It reminded him of when he'd gotten his piercing, the sudden, bright little stab of unexpected agony that had cut through the drunken haze he'd been in at the time, and made him gasp against the surface of the table he was laid out on. Not to mention hurry out of that dingy little tattoo parlor in Montana with a bulge in his pants and a fiery blush splashed across his cheeks.

"'M sorry," Dean murmured, going back to just petting his head and his ears as soon as his fingers were clean. "I know you liked it, but I shouldn't've just sprung that bloodplay on you...I should've told you what I had in mind before I even put the collar on you." He stayed silent for a while, just stroking and occasionally scratching, and Sam entertained the idea of trying to sleep then. But then Dean shrugged. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now, huh?" There was a rustle of fabric as he looked down at him. "C'mon, Sammy." He patted his shoulder. "Gotta get you cleaned up - ready for more." Sam imagined he could hear him grin. "I've got plenty in mind."

Instead of climbing to all fours and getting ready to do whatever Dean told him to, Sam raised his head and yawned widely, eyes still closed, then lowered it and nestled back into Dean's leg. A hand patted him affectionately on the head.

"Need a break, huh? Okay."

With Dean's hand on his head, stroking softly and lulling him to sleep, Sam felt a sudden rush of love so strong it almost made him dizzy for his big brother. Not strictly familial love, either. Though that _was _in there, along with powerful, pure feelings for him as a partner and a friend and a lover and...well, maybe, just maybe...as an owner. A master. Someone who would look after him and take care of him and use him to the best of his potential.

And that was pretty much what all of this had been about from the very beginning, a week ago, hadn't it? Soothing each other, relieving stress and meeting their needs together, reaffirming their love, their bond, reassuring themselves that one would always, _always _be there for the other - for everything. They were just as close as they needed to be, and it was working like it hadn't before. Sam couldn't be happier.

"I could take off the collar, y'know," Dean told him softly. "And the ears...make you a little more comfortable."

Sam growled quietly in response, and he laughed, fondling his ears.

"Good boy, Sammy." He felt him shift, heard fabric rustle, and then a kiss was planted right between his ears. "Such a good boy."


End file.
